The Second Game
by Setoglomper
Summary: Webb recruits Harm and Mac for another operation in Columbia when Carlos Estruga escapes his sentence. Is he the only enemy at work, or is there a more complicated plot at hand?


Hello, JAG fanatics. This is my first JAG fanfic, but not my first fanfic overall, so if you want to flame me about anything, I can really care less. Your comments, questions, praise, etc, is very helpful to me and I really do take it into consideration. As this is my first fanfic in JAG any helpful ideas are _really_ appreciated.

I don't own JAG (but off the top of my head I can't think of who does, but whoever they are, JAG is theirs!). If I did own JAG, I wouldn't be writing fanfics about it.

The only JAG I've seen is the first 5 seasons (because they're on DVD). This story takes place in season 5. After Brumby moves back to Australia, after the North Koreans hijack the plane, but before the end of the season. I hope that makes sense…anyway, on with the fanfic – I'm done ranting now.

* * *

Chapter 1

JAG Headquarters  
Falls Church, Virginia

Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. looked up from his pile of work when Lt. Roberts knocked on his office door.

"Sir?"

"Yea, Bud, what is it?" Harm put the pen he was twiddling in his fingers on the desk.

"Sir, the Admiral wishes to see you in his office ASAP."

"Thanks, Bud, did he ask for anyone else, or just me?"

"Colonel Mackenzie is already in the Admiral's office.

Harm got up and headed toward the door, "Do you know what this is about, Bud?"

"I don't know sir, but I thought I saw – "

* * *

"Webb?" Harm was surprised to see the agent in the Admiral's office as he sat down in front of Chegwidden's desk next to Mac.

"Nice to see you too, Rabb." Clayton Webb was leaning against the fireplace mantle, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and index and middle fingers.

"What's this about, Admiral?" asked Harm.

"Last night, an F-14 crashed somewhere in Columbia. Now, no one has seen the pilot, Lt. John Ashbrooks, nor has anyone seen the Rio, Ensign Daniel Pendrikz. The carrier they were assigned to will be where you will start your investigation. Figure out where they were going and where they might have landed."

"Yes, sir," said Harm, and then he turned to Webb, who was still massaging his forehead. "So, Webb, if we're supposed to find the missing F-14, why are you here?"

"Business, Rabb. I don't come here to watch you receive investigations," said Webb, "the CIA has been investigating the whereabouts of a terrorist known as Karlon Dextir. Aside from being a terrorist, he's an in-and-out drug lord."

"And what does this have to do with the F-14?" asked Mac.

"There are rumors that Dextir has the crew of the F-14. If so, he could be using them to get what he wants from the CIA."

Harm frowned, "Why the CIA? Why not national defense, the President, or something of that nature? Why them?"

"There's another rumor going around of a mole within the Agency leaking top-secret information out of the country. We believe this same person is feeding information to Dextir. Several things only we knew about that are – well, were top secret that Karlon Dextir has managed to foil. Remember Estruga?"

"The Columbian drug lord who took you hostage in return for his brother?" asked Harm, "_that _Estruga?"

"Wait a moment," said Chegwidden, "is he in the States?"

"His brother Roberto is in prison on drug trafficking charges. Held in Miami by federal authorities."

"I see…"

"What about Estruga, Webb?" asked Harm.

"One of ours was trying to get inside Estruga's circle to bust him for the cocaine he's been sending to the United States again. While our man was calling in to say he made contact with Estruga, we lost the call. When we found him, he was dead, Estruga is somewhere, and Dextir's calling card is at the scene."

"Calling card?"

"It's always a photograph of some location with his initials signed in blood on the back. Sometimes there's a message along with it."

"When did the last attack occur?" asked Mac, "the one where Estruga got away?"

"Last week. By now, he and Dextir are dealing cocaine and planning their next move. They're cousins, and when together, it's not necessarily a good thing." Webb moved toward the Admiral's door, "Have fun on the Vermont. I'll meet you at the Embassy." Webb then left the office.

Harm turned to Chegwidden, "Sir? When do we leave for the Vermont?"

"0800 tomorrow. Dismissed."

Harm and Mac stood at attention. "Yes, sir."

"Did Webb seem off to you at all?" asked Harm, following Mac into her office, "he didn't seem to be his usual Webb-ish self."

"How would you feel if your operation to get Estruga again was a bust, Harm?" said Mac, "Webb's a busy guy. I'm just surprised he hasn't drawn us into anything deeper with Dextir. We only have to investigate the F-14."

Harm leaned against her doorframe, "For now, anyway. You think Webb has this assignment as a sort of payback for what happened three years ago between him and Estruga?"

"It's always a possibility. Don't worry about it, Harm. Let Webb stick to his agenda and us to ours."

* * *

Webb's Townhouse  
Alexandria, Virginia

Snow was beginning to fall when Webb unlocked his front door. Leaving his coat on the back of his chair, the agent removed his suit jacket and vest, and loosened his tie. After being caught up in Langley, and then at Falls Church, he needed a relaxing evening. At least one before he went off hunting for "an old friend" like Estruga.

Sitting at his piano, Webb opened the lid covering the keys. Giving his fingers a quick flex, he began to play a memorized concerto. While in the middle of the number, the doorbell rang.

The agent paused and looked at the grandfather clock on the opposite wall. "It's nearly eleven," Webb muttered, "This had better be important." Looking through the peephole, Webb couldn't see anyone. Frowning, he opened the door. Nobody was within sight.

_Kids…_thought Webb. About to close his door and go upstairs to bed, something caught his eye.

Sitting innocently on the doormat was an envelope. Webb picked up the letter and brought it inside. The handwriting on the envelope wasn't of someone he recognized. Turning it over, the agent broke the seal and tipped it sideways. One thing fell out and landed on the coffee table. Webb picked it up. On one side was a photograph of the American Embassy in Columbia.

Confused to why someone would send him a photograph of the Embassy, Webb turned the photo over. On the back were numerous bloodstained fingerprints, as well as a bloody message - "We will meet again, Signor Webb." Under the message were Karlon Dextir's initials, as well as two others. One was "CE" and the other "CM".

* * *

North of Union Station

"So, how did it go?" Renee Peterson snuggled next to Harm on the couch if his apartment.

"You mean the budget proposal?" laughed the naval officer, "Admiral Chegwidden was so pleased with the increase we got, and he wants me to do the budget every year."

"I don't know how you sailors do your budget, but aren't you glad I'm around?"

"Definitely. And we're not just sailors – we're lawyers."

"Whatever. Just don't forget our date tomorrow night, Harm. You promised we'd go someplace special."

Harm blinked and leaned away from her, "Tomorrow?"

Renee smiled, "Yes, tomorrow. You promised me this just after the North Korean's hijacked the plane. Remember, I documented the "trial" from inside the plane?"

"Oh, yea," said Harm, "Now I remember."

Renee frowned, "Is something wrong, Harm? Are you going to ditch me on this date as well?"

Harm sighed, "No, but I was just informed of an investigation I'm assigned to. I'll be leaving with Colonel Mackenzie tomorrow morning. I'm not sure when we'll be back."

"Well, then sailor, you have to promise me that the minute you're off duty, we go somewhere."

"Sounds good to me," Harm smiled, and then the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Harm?"

"Mac!" Harm leaned against the desk in the corner, "What's up?"

"It's about the case."

"Oh, alright. Hang on." Harm covered the mouthpiece. "Renee, I have to take this privately. Could you excuse me for a moment?"

Renee sighed, "sure Harm. I'll just be in the bedroom." She sounded disappointed, but when up towards the back of the apartment.

"Go ahead, Mac," said Harm, when he thought Renee was out of earshot.

"Well, I'm not sure what may happen out there, but do _you _think Webb is hiding something?"

"Mac, didn't I ask _you_ this earlier?"

"Probably," Harm heard her laugh on the other side of the line.

"Mac, I wouldn't put it past him. I mean, he faked his death, nearly sacrificed Keeter in Iran, then surprises me with the news I have to fly a stealth plane out of the country, and sets us up with a mission where he knew there was an extremely deadly virus, among other things. There's always something up Webb's sleeve."

"I hope we don't find out too late. Last thing we need is a surprise for the worst."

"What do you think Estruga's after anyway? Why break him out of wherever he was? By now, he shouldn't have any more contacts since we busted him years ago. Why is he involved?"

"That's Webb's job, Harm. We just have to investigate the plane crash."

"Well, usually Webb's duties become our duties too. Hey, I've got Renee over so I'll have to cut you loose."

He heard Mac sigh on the other side, "Alright, Harm. But Renee Peterson? What do you see in her?"

"What do you see in Mic Brumby?"

"Good_night_, Commander." With that, she hung up.

* * *

Two figures snuck through a packed parking garage in Alexandria. Passing by row after row of vehicles, they stopped in the middle of one of the aisles. One of the men fastened something to the underside of one of the vehicles, and then the two scattered.

* * *

North of Union Station

Harm groggily opened his eyes that morning. There was no light coming through his windows, so he turned his head to stare at the bright digital numbers glaring back at him. Twelve after three. Harm sighed. In about five hours, he would be on his way to the USS Vermont.

_If I go back to sleep_, he thought, _I probably will miss the alarm and be screwed. While I'm up, I might as well stay up…_

Harm got out of bed and started his coffee machine. While snooping through the fridge, the lawyer noticed the blinking light on his answering machine. Confused, he went over and looked through the Caller ID list. The last call was at around midnight from someone he didn't recognize.

_Midnight? Renee left at around eleven, and I went to bed soon after. But midnight? Who in their right mind would call then!?_

Harm pushed the playback button.

"_Harm, it's Webb…"_

_Solves that mystery…_Harm shook his head. What did Webb want now?

"…I've already called Mac. The rendezvous time and place has changed. I'll meet you at JAG, no later than noon."

Harm sighed again. _Leave it to Webb to change things at the last minute…. _The commander looked at the clock. He knew Admiral Chegwidden wouldn't arrive until at least 0900, and his superior would want to know every last bit of the investigation. Harm shook his head and went back to his coffee.

_

* * *

_JAG Headquarters  
Falls Church, Virginia 

Harm strolled into his office just after ten the next morning. He had barely put his briefcase on his desk when Mac came up to him.

"What do you think is going on, Harm? Webb changed the starting time and place."

"Yea, I know. He called last night. I just want to know if he's still hiding something – you know he usually is."

"Can't you try to imagine that there are no surprises?"

"Can't Mac. Webb is _always_ hiding something." He sat behind his desk, "In the meantime, I'm going to work on the Valugar appeal."

"His sentence will never be overturned, Harm," Mac taunted as she left the office. Harm chuckled and turned to his computer.

Soon after, Bud knocked on his doorframe, "Commander?"

"What is it, Lieutenant?"

"I have the information you requested on the Valugar appeal."

"Oh, thanks, Bud. You can set them there, on the corner…yea, there is fine. Thanks Bud."

* * *

Webb's Townhouse  
Alexandria, Virginia

By the time Webb was ready to leave his home, the sun was shining; the temperature was strangely warm for January. Leaving his long tan trench coat home, Webb strolled out to the parking deck to find his car. Straightening his blue and white striped tie on his three-piece suit, Webb then pulled out his keys, fumbling for the one to unlock his vehicle. Nearly getting the correct one, they slipped from his fingers and bounced under his car.

Webb sighed, after nearly missing his alarm clock (which was at maximum volume), almost burning his morning coffee, he was not in the mood to crawl on the deck floor.

He bent over when something caught his eye.

Ticking with an hour to go was a bomb, attached to the underside of the sports car, with an automatic detonator stuck to the bottom of the driver's seat door.


End file.
